All my beloved eloquence is washing away, in a moment 
to be gone, evaporating. A big old mouth, for sure, but 
nothing to say  speaking, yes, but not communicating. 
When did I trade my stride for this convalescent 
soliloquy? Did I bury it, or did I bottle it up and 
toss it into the sea that laps behind me? You'd 
recognize my funny face from miles away. I know I 
couldn't fool you if I tried. But pecked apart and left 
for dead by birds of prey, I'd leave interpretation 
open so wide. All my beloved indifference is washing 
away. (It was never really here if you'd have noticed.) 
If I give you a map and tell you, 'Point out the Bay,' 
you'll point to California or to the Dakotas, 'cause 
you just have so much more fun when you're clouding the 
issue with reverie and confusing it. But oh, I'm losing 
it  will you remember me from Mary, Katrin or Brie? 
We've been digging through the trash behind the 
Masters' home and they've thrown away some perfectly 
good rice. Huddling in the darkness, glimpsing faint 
moonlight on chrome  just to be alone with you is 
something nice. I shiver like a crow would warm her icy 
wing as we leave those cans beside the Masters' shed. 
You observe aloud, 'The Masters don't know squat about 
recycling.' I think of all the funny bits to that which 
could be wed  and I go beet red when it hits me 
suddenly that I've been so flat with you. But when I 
wake up in the morning to eight hours of sunlight on 
another lonely day, i'll realize that once again 
infatuation has turned gray. Yeah, you'd recognize my 
pretty face from miles away. I know I couldn't fool you 
if I tried, even if my hair was done up for some Sallie 
Mae or in a million barrettes it were tied. I could 
have died when it hit me suddenly that I'd been so flat 
with you. But with the morning's clarity I've realized 
that if you'd wanted, you could've voiced it, too, what 
we maybe both were thinking.